Greedy Little Bugger

Ask any adult in the street to share what they’re eating.
They’ll look at you like you’ve got rabies.

They won’t even reply.
They just walk straight by you.
But you can tell what they’re thinking
By the back of their head.

“What’s wrong with that boy?” they’ll ask themselves.
Is he homeless?
Did his mother die of AIDS?
No,
I bet he’s just a greedy little bugger.

And they walk off content
That they weren’t one of the morons to be bent over
And happy slapped
By Britain’s declining culture.

They’ll even tell their friends over the garden fence of their bravery.
“You’ll never guess what happened to me today Julie!
This little chav tried to steal my crunchy granola bar!
What is the world coming to?”

Never mind that it was a KitKat Chunky.
Julie doesn’t need to know that Weight Watchers isn’t working.


Not everyone reacts the same way.

I walked past a woman in Tesco yesterday,
Her whole being torn,
Between the money in her purse,
And how Free Range the Organic chicken really was.

I smiled at the podgy two year old,
Sat in his mother’s trolley,
Sucking on a Milkybar.

Instinctively,
He reached out,
Offering me a bite of his chocolate.

I declined the offer.
I didn’t want to take candy from a baby.

He carried on sucking,
Content.

His mother bought the cheaper chicken.